"handling" poems
I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagus
With tigery stripes, and a face on it
Round as the moon, to stare up.
I want to be looking at them when they come
Picking among the dumb minerals, the roots.
I see them already -- the pale, star-distance faces.
Now they are nothing, they are not even babies.
I imagine them without fathers or mothers, like the first gods.
They will wonder if I was important.
I should sugar and preserve my days like fruit!
My mirror is clouding over --
A few more breaths, and it will reflect nothing at all.
The flowers and the faces whiten to a sheet.
I do not trust the spirit. It escapes like steam
In dreams, through mouth-hole or eye-hole. I can't stop it.
One day it won't come back. Things aren't like that.
They stay, their little particular lusters
Warmed by much handling. They almost purr.
When the soles of my feet grow cold,
The blue eye of my tortoise will comfort me.
Let me have my copper cooking pots, let my rouge pots
Bloom about me like night flowers, with a good smell.
They will roll me up in bandages, they will store my heart
Under my feet in a neat parcel.
I shall hardly know myself. It will be dark,
And the shine of these small things sweeter than the face of Ishtar.
36.5k
"So why are you painting a woman in a bottle?"
The challenge. Handling all those quirky reflections and layers of transparency.
"She has phantom arms and legs, what about that?"
Yes, pretty cool. A Vitruvian woman in a bottle.
"I'm looking for Meaning: Don't paintings look under the surface?"
You mean, what does it mean, really mean? It's just a way to test my skill.
"But what are you saying with that?"
It's not feminist nor anti, it's just an exercise. Besides, there's a rope.
"But aren't you, as an artist, exposing reality, presenting emotions and feelings, seeing the soul?"
*I'm not on a soapbox-- I'm testing my skill-- I paint and don't think about it too much. After all, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar' or is it 'just a smoke'? *
"I don't like your message."
*OK, I'll paint you in a bottle...
As a shrunken head.*
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 7:49 AM UTC
*These feelings & emotions
Feel as if they are Infused inside,
A depressed state of mind
Discovering myself is the hardest rhyme,
I drown in every hide tide
Never able to win
Restraining the pain within
My blood drys thin
Noise mutters from the hells next door
Waves crashing at the shore
Of my brittle skin
Crying on the edges of hell
A heart that can't mend
Handling what I can't hold in
I swallow down my sins*
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
Like bladed birds of steel they glide and wing,
Across the ice without any dismay,
Fearing no hard body check or cold swing.
They circle the net in frozen ballet,
Flitting about like puck-handling mice,
Tenacity drips from each ounce of their play.
They dazzle with grace all over the ice,
With a jump, a spin, and a pirouette,
Always ready to pay a high price.
They give it all ‘till they’re soaked through with sweat.
We watch with joy from our perch high above.
Our yells, their chirping—it’s quite a duet!
These men change the game with the drop of a glove,
And so, bloodthirsty, we give them our love.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
Me and you, doing what we do.
Under the sheets; Keeping secrets, behind your back.
looking at your interview, and I, love the view.
You ****** me, I’m ******* you; now its back to you.
lifting your skirt up, easy access for me and you.
Getting deep; taking in all of me.
Giving you multiple choices; take it in.
me climb on top, you riding me. With,
no surprise to me, you; end up,
picking all three. Inside of you;
Me covered with thee; sexually: hot and all juicy.
Good Girl; Naughty thoughts, feeling filthy.
Go a-head, blame it all on me.
It’s building up, feel the intensity.
Handling my business; by loving your company.
It is what it is, because it’s meant to be.
Love is everything, so you will be the death of me.
Giving it to me so good, your antidote.
Is like dope to me. Love potion, Seducing me.
Sexually, spiritually, physically and mentally.
Event filled nights; eventually.
Lost in deep thoughts; hopefully
You are, understanding me, while
looking up at; I marvel at what I see.
Your nectar, taste like honey from the finest be.
Fruit, fit for a God; hand picked for me.
My kingdom come, is one thing.
But my Hung Dynasty; is something you have to see.
My thunderbolt, will pardon your seas, as your waves
of passion ride over me; I vibe with the motion of your
ocean: blowing our minds. Your Ocean spray; splashed
all over me. Giving her-a- cane, and made her purple
rain: She giggled, because it was embarrassing.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
I thought of killing myself because I am only a bricklayer
and you a woman who loves the man who runs a drug store.
I don't care like I used to; I lay bricks straighter than I
used to and I sing slower handling the trowel afternoons.
When the sun is in my eyes and the ladders are shaky and the
mortar boards go wrong, I think of you.
6.6k
It’s our secret; lets keep it between us.
I rather you not press the issue, rather keep it hush hush.
So I can rub it in, then tease it, with a soft touch.
So I can shove them in, then ease it, love it so much.
Holding it against me, this is far from a grudge.
Handling it on my own, show a girl some love!
Moving your fingers slightly, side to side, feel the rush.
Touching very gently, up and down, you’re so generous.
The sensation, making you feel, so scandalous.
You under the sheets, hiding, and its just us.
Me, Myself, and I, up against our ********
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
I promise to love you with all my heart.
I promise to stay & never part.
To love you, to hold you, be there in times of need.
For you to promise the same to me, I plead.
My promise, my oath, my vows I have spoken.
Promises made, promises never broken.
I promise to laugh in times of pleasure.
When you are sad I'll comfort you in full measure.
I promise to give you all that you desire.
I promise my love for you will never tire.
My promise, my oath, my vows I have spoken.
Promises made, promises never broken.
I promise to you I'll devote my whole life.
I promise to make myself your perfect wife.
I promise to you my zeal and devotion.
My feeling, affection, sentiments & emotion.
My promise, my oath, my vows I have spoken.
Promises made, promises never broken.
A happy, successful family we will raise.
I promise to provide for my children always.
My time, my love, my understanding
I promise to give when problems need handling.
So now, to you I've given my word -
My assurance, my pledge and bestowal you've heard.
Will you promise the same to me?
Please give me your heartfelt testimony.
Your promise, your oath, your vows let be spoken.
Promises made, but never ever broken.
© 1992
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 10:19 PM UTC
By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.
Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
I saw Jim at Two Amigos
Sitting at the bar,
Stick-handling a coaster.
He was a hockey star,
Showed it when he smiled;
His nose a puck.
He tells stories
Of blood freezing on ice,
Jersey pulls and sweat,
Body checks and corners.
He drives the zamboni,
Making the ice sheet a giant mirror.
The crowds cheer Jim
To get off the ice,
Let the game begin.
He speeds his machine
To the far end doors,
Vanishing down the tunnel.
He's just ordered a double boiler-maker,
Stirs his whiskey with a swizzle-stick,
And slaps back another shot.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
Monday 10:20 PM
I drank hot tea once you left and I guess I drank it too soon. I burned my ******* mouth. I think that has a correlation to you leaving me.
Monday 11:00 PM
Please come back. Please don't really leave. You promised to always stay.
Monday 11:11 PM
Please, I'm sorry. I'm begging for you.
Tuesday 12:04 AM
leaves voicemail sobbing
Tuesday 12:25 AM
We can work through this, please. You promised.
Tuesday 1:40 AM
Goodnight, my love. I'll love you forever.
Tuesday 6:00 AM
I hardly slept, I woke up clenching my pillow craving it to be you instead. It wasn't. Will it ever be you again?
Tuesday 7:17 AM
I'm not handling this too well. I really need you.
Tuesday 12:00 PM
I'm going to try and work... I love you.
Tuesday 12:05 PM
leaves voicemail sobbing uncontrollably Work called me off. I think that's a sign for me to cope at home. However, I was looking forward to staying busy.
Tuesday 2:37 PM
I love you with my entire being. Please think about this. You're ending 9 months in one day.
Tuesday 11:00 PM (INCOMING TEXT)
I hope you're doing okay.
Tuesday 11:01 PM
I've missed you so much. I'll be okay.
Tuesday 11:10 PM
Please tell me you love me.
Wednesday 1:30 AM
I love you, sweet dreams.
Wednesday 7:30 AM
Good morning, still little sleep. I can't stop thinking of you. I wish I could skip work today, I don't really know what's happening to my body right now.
Wednesday 2:00 PM
I'm trying to hide from everyone at work. This is really ******* hard. It's hard to try and act okay while providing good first impressions.
Wednesday 6:00 PM
Can I come over?
Wednesday 6:40 PM
Is it too soon to see you? Please say no. I need you.
Wednesday 7:00 PM (INCOMING)
Yes, it's too soon.
Thursday 6:02 AM
I haven't ******* slept at all. I need to hear your voice. I keep listening to your voicemail's, but I only get 5 seconds in without crying. I shouldn't have made you everything. Now, my everything is gone and not okay. I'm not okay. I should have made you at least a little less of everything, so maybe I would be a little OK. Maybe I would be able to recover that way.
Thursday 12:00 PM
I'm at work again. It's just as hard. You're not with me and I've hardly slept this week. If you were with me though, I'm sure I wouldn't sleep either. My heart has been pounding out of my chest this entire week. I can't eat either. These have been the only consistencies this week. That and my dizziness. I have been so ******* dizzy. Everything is always spinning.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 1:47 AM UTC
The storms have set in fast this year
The wet skies a little sticky to the ear
Chalk fizzing in the water but it doesn't affect us in town
and again the leaves have skipped amber to brown;
the ships dock faster every September that rolls around
and the captain keeps telling us he's found less, and less-
by now we've all been wearing the same stuff for years
- Bar sodden coats and lipstick smears
but the word with my friends is since that summer on the shore
We've never come this far inland before.
It's the last term now and the older years that are closest
tell us that the new kids catch on faster, they've noticed
but that's something we're not supposed to discuss
soaking up heavy sunlight like a dusty curtain letting its motes spin
And in the backrooms - new fashion is emerging
and again we're handling with faux grandiose -
the kids at the bottom of the class need this stuff most.
we're not likely to forget.
and that moment when the girl in the pink stood and told us
she wasn't convinced she needed us anymore
and lunch was silent.
All the men at school act like they care
But cold chairs and icy fingers forced their hand
and god knows I'm not quiet anymore -
but I don't think i'll miss the school gore.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
She was like the iron pyrite
The teacher asked them to examine, and describe;
Cold, dense and prickly,
Difficult to love.
Given the right light
And a gentle handling,
Oh, how she'd sparkle,
But in that place, expectations and sensory overload
rendered her lumpen, and resistant.
Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed -
And placed in a maelstrom,
She was bewildered and forlorn.
Un-cooperative, they called her,
And the teachers loved the other gems instead,
Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade.
Two years of discouragement and dislike
And even the tentative sparkles had darkened.
The other gems enjoyed each other
And moved away from her magnetic pull,
sensing difference.
No outright meanness, not yet,
But hints were brewing, whispers had started
And she wandered alone, in the playground,
Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself.
The teachers only wanted conformity
And called her parents to voice concern
about her lack of friends.
Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say
She would have told them it didn't matter
But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her,
And her parents were added to the burden of people
Worried and disappointed, watching.
She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded,
Now it was a problem. She didn't fit,
Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist
Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn.
That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began.
This was harder; the meanness was apparent now,
Difference wasn't tolerated
And someone wandering alone was a target.
She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book,
But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge
Forcing her to submit to the torture.
Every day was a war zone,
So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily
Spraying deodorant directly into her own face
induced asthma attacks; and not all those ear infections were real,
She was an accomplished actress.
She got through it, millions do.
She found her own place, her own friends in her own time.
Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye
Her darkness didn't mark her out as different,
And all that fake illness
Was great prep for theatre,
Where she was able to return to her inner world,
And no-one cared if you feigned madness
Or embraced the real thing.
Difference was celebrated,
The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence,
And a talent to be nurtured,
Not a difference to be despised.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC
In high-school chemistry classrooms across the
country, you are forced to memorize all of the different
lab equipment.
They never tell you to memorize the constellation
of freckles spattered across the bridge of your
lab partner's nose, but you do it
anyways.
You learn about Marie Curie and radioactive decay, but you
find you are more interested in the way his smile starts small
and grows to light a fire in your cheeks.
You blame it on the Bunsen burner.
You study polyatomic ions and how they act as a single unit, and it
reminds you of how he winks at you right before quizzes
and you find you can't focus on anything at all.
You blame it on the lack of breakfast.
You test over periodic trends and ionization energy, but all
you can think of at night is the way he taps his fingers
and maybe it's why you can't sleep at night.
You blame it on a restless mind.
In high-school chemistry classrooms across the
country, you are forced to be careful when handling
Erlenmeyer flasks.
They never tell other students to be careful when handling
your heart.
They never tell you how much easier it is to clean up the mess
from a shattered beaker than it is to clean up the mess
from your shattered heart.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
My father used to bring home kites
from Pakistan,
made out of colorful paper
and thin sticks.
Mine was pink and blue,
and caught my eye as soon
as it was taken out.
It was beautiful,
and i imagined it soaring through
the skies,
viewable from all the houses in town.
The yarn was grey,
and had minuscule shards of glass
woven within it.
My father told me that it was for kite fighting,
the way they used to do it from the rooftops
of the villages.
One would fly the kite
and the other would be in charge of the spool.
Together, they would change altitudes
and attempt to cut other kite strings.
The last kite left in the air would be the winner.
And my mind would run to those rooftops,
the very sand ridden rooftops he had described.
Imaginarily controlling the kite
with a friend handling the spool behind me.
Together winning the kite fighter crown,
and my father being proud of his only son.
All while i lay in bed,
with a grand imagination,
and not a single clue
on how to make the last thought a reality.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
Dad, I know you would not want me to say..
but I miss you every single day.
You were my hero from an early age
my guardian, my teacher, my wisely sage.
You and Mum raised us all with such love.
Handling us all with kitten gloves.
Your knowledge and experiences you would freely impart.
You really were oh so smart.
There was nothing you wouldn't do
To keep your Family close to you.
An arm to hold us, stop us falling down.
An ear to listen when no one else was around.
You were strength
You were smart
You were fun
You were loyal
You were our rock
We won't forget you Dad, you'll never leave our hearts.
Love you **
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 3:29 PM UTC
My hands grasp onto unsure objects
Fighting the past and barely handling the future
And I feel sick.
I feel sick each day
Each morning
Each evening
Each conversation
Each cigarette.
I cannot digest this,
Nor can I digest the food on my plate,
Or the information thrown at me each day.
I am lethargic and boring,
Lame and confused,
Tired and constant,
There is no change.
I fear routine but
Also fear change
I am fickle.
I am boring I am selfless
I am selfish I am sure
I am distant
I am clingy
Like the shore.
I pull you in when I need you
Push you away when I don't
Cry when I am uncomfortable
And turn dark and I am cold.
I grasp onto unsure things,
Hoping I will gain control.
Control is not in my control;
However,
I will try and grasp onto these feelings,
Write about it and wither in self pity
Only to realize
I can only control the words
Escaping my chapped lips.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
Where is death today?
Busily hiding the bodies,
Or hunched beside a car loosening wheel bolts,
Placing a dark hand over a traffic light,
Squeezing the shotgun trigger,
Or strapped in a wheelchair
Disguised as a patient and wheeling rapidly around the hospital wards,
Removing the soap.
Or maybe cycling down the motorway
The large black cloak neatly bundled into the waistband
Right trouser leg tucked into a black sock
A bone poking out the toe
The Reaper strapped to the bicycle crossbar
Blade hanging to the rear
But not obscuring the red reflector
Wearing Kevlar gloves when handling the scythe
And Vis a Vest neatly tied with a bow
At the very least a reflective armband.
Or possibly fixing a puncture on his way to my home...Bad form then
On arrival should I greet with “Come in, you look perished! ”
Discuss the weather as a distraction
I could offer new socks
Like every interview this might not go well.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 7:50 PM UTC
I'd been trying to write a poem
Just one ******* poem
But he said
*Just **** around*
Swallow down a bowl full of squares
Let’s play games with each other’s minds
Spend a night lost in a house of cards
Where the joker cackles despite your begging
A reminder of what I could do without
Shouting at the world from the white pavilion
You suckers!
With your skirts hitched up and tongues hanging out
Gagging on a lover’s loneliness
All I see is your undergarments crying for attention
With a liquor solace barely down your throat
Eighteen silver blades
Smile at me with their perfect teeth
One to mark each year that past
A nineteenth will not be necessary
Ready to drag
Like the man trailing his head on a string
Across the surgeon’s winking knife
Tapping their toes on the bathroom counter
Anxious to mingle with my flesh
I’ve already scrubbed in
The survival rate looks dismal
The cotton reel loosens and my halo slips
Down - the noose around my neck
He sat across the room in plaid
Remarked upon the crosshatch of red
That drew the crooked red grin on the white of my thigh
Like loops of raspberry liquorice
Seeping out sticky tears
He misses handling the vegetables
Who ordered cocktails in lurid colours
Well, I’ve a mélange of my own
A collection of prescriptions from the doctor’s office
Stored in a heart shaped box
To swallow down like jelly beans
I’m waiting for that deadly sugar rush
Death’s been dancing on my doorstep
Absent minded as I sit at the dinner table
Head in hand, foot in grave
There’ll be no morning migraine
Perhaps a little mourning in the peripheral vision
Swept up from beneath the climbing frame
Under a soil blanket with a tomb stone mattress
Coughing up the sand in my throat
That I emptied from the egg-timer
Those darling quadrilateral crystals
Blissful in their ignorance
Disturbing my quiet complacency
Drowned in a glass of tomato juice
That I poured from my skull
Death holds my hand in the dark
And I whisper to pass on the message
Bury me with pyjama’s and a pillow
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 6:23 AM UTC
It's Friday
It's pay day
It's time to go get me
Another AR-15
So I can go shoot the breeze
You can't tell me that it's wrong
The 2nd amendment has been around way too long
For you to croon your gun control song
Don't matter what you've got to say
When I've got the NRA on my side
Supporting MY life
But don't worry
If anything, you should be proud
Because the NRA says
No Regulations Allowed!
I don't get why you're so upset
I studied gun safety once
Eight years back
So I got your girl Teresa's back
No, like, I literally just shot her in the back
There's blood everywhere!
Don't scream, I'm telling you because I care
Oh, don't look at me like t h a t
Accidents happen all the time
I'm perfectly capable of handling this gun
You're just out to take me rights
And steal my fun!
Uhm, but forreal could you watch your tone?
I know you care about Teresa
But what about how I feel?
My masculinity isn't set to "criticism permitted" mode
It's on "gun control prohibited" mode
Say anymore and I'll have to go
I'm not gonna lie, the second amendment makes me come alive
Even as other people continue to die
I guess you could say I'm a real guy's guy
Anyways, just because Teresa got hurt
That doesn't mean that gun control would work
Why don't you just consult the CDC
You'll see, they'll side with me
And, no, it's not a funding thing
It's a freedom thing
If anything, you should be proud
Don't be shy, come along now
Support the NRA
No Regulations Allowed!
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 3:36 AM UTC
many will know the beauty
of a butterfly's wing
and the delicate intricacy
of their decoration
those swathes of colour
meandering boldly in flight
a proclamation of
their presence
their providence
whose startling eyespots
can mimic the stolid gaze
of the stern and the alluring
observing in judgement
or perhaps in wonder
blinking only as they flutter
flattered disbelieving
yet there are reminders
in that Rorschach patterning
that those with ill intent
should observe
threats and
warnings overlooked
by those in admiration
of such beauty
where few will heed
that gossamer fragility
broken by any
not considerate enough
in their handling
Oct 2, 2023
Oct 2, 2023 at 9:51 AM UTC
"You're crazy and no one likes you." I don't know how to respond. I am ten and have never heard such hurtful words before. She smirks as I walk away in tears, silent in my own disbelief. At dinner that night, my mother says she is jealous of me because I am such a smart, kind girl. Now I am confused. Am I an outcast that is hated by all, or the poster child for perfection?
She is insecure
Envy green with jealousy
But she still hurts me
"Wow. It's really sad that you have to tattle to the principal instead of handling things yourself." I don't know how to respond. I am fourteen and am now embarrassed for asking my mom to talk to the school, and to make sure I didn't share any classes with my bully. I delete the post from my Facebook wall and lock myself in my room. At dinner that night, my mother says I am mature for contacting the school rather than fighting with my attacker. But I am confused. How can I stand up for myself if other people are solving my problems for me?
I cannot escape
Her words make me feel alone
What did I do wrong?
"Guess who." I know exactly how to respond. I am seventeen and I have had enough. My bully moved away two years ago; I thought she had moved on. Apparently, distance is not a problem for her. One sentence is all she will get from me: "I feel bad for you." The phone company has her number minutes later and I am proud of myself. At dinner that night, I don't tell my mother anything, because there's nothing to tell. There is no more confusion; I know that she is not the only one of her kind, but I also know that I am strong enough to handle anyone whose insecurites knock them down a few levels in the realm of maturity. I only wish the clarity had come sooner.
To my old neighbor:
Thank you for tormenting me.
You have made me strong.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
I deal with problems
In a funny way
and maybe it's because I'm selfish but
My own problems
devour me
If someone I care about
"Burdens" me (as they would say)
with their problems
It sort of drowns out my problems
Which is a good thing
Because no matter how loud I scream
No matter if I have shrieked in terror, loathing, and misery
Until my throat is raw
At my problems
I. Can. Still. HEAR. THEM.
But to hear of someone else’s life
That is far worse than I could ever imagine
It drowns out those voices in my head
…but last time
I didn’t handle it well.
That was my fault
I should have been trustworthy enough
Not to make it worse
I should have been a good friend
But I WASN’T! I KEPT HER COMPANY IN HER PRISON CELL, THE ONE SHE CALLS HER MIND
AND THAT WAS MY FAULT I WILL NEVER EVER FORGIVE MYSELF FOR THAT
I should have anchored myself to the shore
And kept her alive, and above the surface
In the light
But I didn’t
I just drowned with her
Down in the darkest depths
I just dragged her down farther
And I will admit
At the moment
I am not on shore
But I am not in an ocean, like her
I am treading water
In the nearest lake
And after last time, I don’t blame her for a second for not telling me
I don’t deserve to be trusted
But last time we were both in the ocean
I think I just have trouble handling it when we are both in the same type of trouble
This time
I am just struggling to stay afloat in a lake
Lakes are nice
Less of a big deal
I’m fine
Really
I will have good days and bad days in this lake
But really, I’m fine
Now that she has trusted me enough
To tell me her problems
If she is in an ocean
And I am in a lake
There is a stretch of land between us
If knowledge of secrets are chains
Running from her, to shore, to me
Then maybe I can help to keep her afloat this time
I will keep her afloat this time
I promise I will
I hope that she can trust me enough
From now on
To tell me her problems
Because this time is different
There is always potential
For it to get dark again
But that is only
If I learned absolutely nothing from last time
And I promise I certainly learned a lot
I can handle it
It hurts me far, far more
To not know what is bringing her down
It breaks my heart to think
She is afraid to dump all her problems on me
Because I want her to dump all her problems on me
It drowns out my own
And it makes me aware
And I just want to help her
I really just want to help her
Not like last time
I want another chance
To be trusted with everything
The way it used to be
To be trusted with all of the burdens
Because this time
I won’t ***** it up
I won’t let the burden crush me too
It’s like if someone hands you 30 pounds
You might fall if you weren’t expecting it
But this time
I know to expect it and how to not let it crush me
Please
I just want to be trusted
To have learned enough not to let it just get dark again between us
I want to be trusted with all the burdens
Because I can take it
It won’t trigger me
I understand if you keep things from me
And I will never be angry with you for it
But it hurts me so much more
Not to know
Please trust me again.
Please.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
You wait on the smooth and shiny floor
of the arrival area with mixed feelings,
you're a groom expecting his bride
to be led to him slowly and unscathed
on the sliding plastic pieces of carousel.
You think about how relieved you are
for making it out of the plane,
how you managed to mumble
an indistinct farewell to
the pretty flight attendants
that filled your in-flight fantasies.
Then you also think about
the last time you came through this airport
and your luggage did not arrive;
how the uncountable footsteps
and phone calls yielded nothing.
That's when little beads of sweat
begin to flock on your brow.
The first few luggage are discharged
through the small opening in the wall,
arriving with subdued fanfare on the carousel.
An all black Samsonite cruises by,
followed closely by a blue Nike sports bag
that puffs out its chest as if in a military parade.
Then a green and white plaid bag drifts by
and you wonder if the owner is from Ghana
or perhaps a proud Nigerian.
The plastic draped Travelpro catches your eye,
half torn to shreds - a good reminder
of the hazards of cargo handling.
Four minutes go by
and you've become a detective
swiftly and skilfully scanning the bags
as they drive by in their solemn procession.
Then you spot that red and black duffel bag
wearing your Mum's purple ribbon
and your eyes instantly light up.
Your cheeks push up in delight
and your lips become glued
in a perpetual clown smile.
As it moves close and you pick it up,
you notice the early rays of light
that have begun to filter in
through the concrete slits in the wall.
Suddenly you realize:
what a great day it is!
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 8:11 AM UTC
The heart of a champion
Willing to go through the battle
With such zeal and vigor
Always one to persevere
What courage she has
With a warrior like attitude
Handling situations with class and dignity
And showing her gratitude
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 9:46 PM UTC